Pan Down
by tardisnare14
Summary: The frame shakes...he feels like he could edit and fix that, or maybe he'll keep it untouched in a box in the corner of his closet. Warning - may be triggering. Post RENT Same as "Make It". The website deleted the first one.


"December 25th, 2am, Eastern Standard time. Christmas day. Here we are. All together for the holiday, though not in our usual setting. Pan right to view the white walls and mounted television. The friends are gathered in small plastic chairs, their backsides becoming accustomed to the hardened surface.

"Zoom in on Maureen Johnson and Joanne Jefferson, the two lesbian lovers embrace in their slumber; just a few hours ago, they were bickering over how they are too busy to see each other anymore, now bonded back together for their emergency room visit. Another right pan, next to the two women is the sleeping Latina, Mimi Marquez, small and scared. She set in restless sleep, head in the lap of her own lover, Roger Davis. The worn rocker looks pale, his eyes betraying his body, looking hollow and melancholy. Beneath them, dark circles form from the stress."

"Cut it out man, please."

"He would have - would want this. He'd want to know every moment. I want him to see us all here together for him. To show him even with everything happening and Angel's death, that we can make it."

Click. Rewind.

"Edit that cut. Or don't. It makes it more real. Who knows. Let's continue. Zoom in on the window above the bed. Benny's outside speaking with the staff, he got the call after we arrived. Don't worry about money, he has it covered, Benny always has us covered, no matter how much Roger still doesn't believe it."

"He's getting there now."

"See, we can make it." Pause, the hum of the camera and quiet high pitched beeps continue with almost shaking framing in the lens. When he watches it, he feels like he could fix it, or maybe he'll keep it untouched in a box in his closet.

"Pan down, onto white, crisp sheets. They've been changed once already since we've arrived, along with the bandages. In the background, a heart monitor beeps steadily, thank god. Foreground holds the IV that is keeping the beeping steady." The shot doesn't move. His hands can't. Roger whispers out of shot, "it's okay, you don't have to continue. He'll understand. He'll understand when he wakes up."

"Zoom in on Mark Cohen, the one that should be holding the camera. His palour is whiter than usual. The Albino Pumpkin Headed Motherfucker blends in with the sheets. Mark is asleep- sedated, in the single hospital bed. Pan down it's revealed that his arms are restrained to the bed with leather cuffs. Underneath the cuffs are layers of gauze, and beneath that are wounds that I wish I would never have to see again."

The frame zooms out onto the full picture that is Mark Cohen. Forearms wrapped and subdued. Spots of pink leaking from underneath the bands. An IV stuck out of the back of his hand.

Collins sighs. It's shaky. "December 24th, maybe 9 or 10pm, Eastern Standard Time. The Bohemian's go to the Life Cafe to celebrate another year. Enter Maureen and Joanne from their apartment to meet myself already there. 5 minutes later, enter Roger and Mimi from the loft with a message that Mark will arrive soon, he wanted to edit one more clip before heading over. Fifteen minutes later, Joanne calls the loft. No one answers. After another 15 minutes the group worry where the filmmaker was. Everyone went back to the loft to go drag the man away from his damn camera for once in his life. Then they enter the loft."

"Collin's, you need to take a rest."

"Dead silent, like his films. The living room empty. Cut to Collins, opening Mark's bedroom door."

"Please Collins, you need-"

"Cut to Mark Cohen, lying on his side, blood running out of his arms from a more physical cut. Two across his left arm. Four on his right. Set to the left a pill bottle, empty. Joanne had 911 on the phone behind Collins, who saw the shallow breaths Cohen was making. Pretty shit-ily, Collins wraps Mark's arms with his button down and induces vomiting, I let you vomit on me."

"Seriously Collins-"

"I just- I want him to realize that we are here for him. That we are a family, and it includes the director who wants to live through a lens. So we aren't perfect and really we're pretty fucked up. AID's drugs, we could be our own reality show or some movie drama, but you'd never sell out. You're immortalizing us us in your films as you prepare for what is to come. Could you just not bear the thought of being the witness?"

There is a mumble off screen, "The one of us to survive."

"That's it. You need to survive. You need to keep going, because your love and compassion should not be wasted on just us. There are so many people who need you. We need you, but we're selfish, we want you to be happy, and I know you can be happy even after."

Pause.

"Mark Cohen, you may feel stuck and alone. Lost and afraid. Afraid enough to want to escape the pain, but as long as we are here, you will never be alone. No matter how much the camera hides; your family will be with you until the end. Be it ours or yours, even after we're gone, just remember. You're not alone."

Click.

The screen blackens, Mark Cohen has his arm wrapped around his chest, the other mindlessly trailing his scars. Underneath his glasses, his face is wet with tears. It's been 2 months since then. 5 weeks since he left eh inpatient center. In the living room of the loft, his five friends await his exit from the room. Tom Collins gave him one instruction after noticing a new red mark under his bicep, hiding in his armpit. Collins gave him a small reel of film, film which Mark doesn't recognize, and told him to watch it, right now. When Mark shut the door, Collins called up the other friends to meet to go to the Life Cafe after Mark finished. The five friends sit in silence.

"Are you sure he'll be okay?" Roger asks, pacing near the door to Mark's room, secretly listening for some sign inside.

"He won't do anything. I trust him." Collins replied. Seconds later, the door opened and Mark stepped into the dimly lit loft, eyes rimmed red and face flushed.

Mark stood, different. Now without weights tied around his shoulders and hanging from his arms. Blue eyes were no longer dull and void, a small glint reappearing back. The room was silent, Roger stood in front of the filmmaker with empathetic eyes. For the first time in months, Mark's lips formed a genuine smile as he wrapped his arms around his friend. An exhale that felt like years of burden and hidden emotion exiting, making his whole body shudder.

A tight, warm hug is made, soon Joanne, Maureen, and Mimi received a relieved embrace, one by one. Collins stands in front of Mark, who's eyes communicate everything to him as Mark chokes out, "I'm so sorry." Collins wraps his arms around his friend.

"Don't be. You're not alone. We'll make it. You're going to make it."


End file.
